I remember
when I saw you in St James's-square I thought you very lively. But
really these thick walls are enough to inspire the vapours if one
never had them before."

"I don't think they have had a very bad effect upon your ladyship!"

"O yes they have; if Euphrasia was here she would hardly know me. And
the extreme want of taste and entertainment in all the family is quite
melancholy: for even if by chance one has the good fortune to hear any
intelligence, Mrs Delvile will hardly let it be repeated, for fear it
should happen to be untrue, as if that could possibly signify! I am
sure I had as lieve the things were false as not, for they tell as
well one way as the other, if she would but have patience to hear
them. But she's extremely severe, you know, as almost all those very
clever women are; so that she keeps a kind of restraint upon me
whether I will or no. However, that's nothing compared to her _caro
sposo_, for he is utterly insufferable; so solemn, and so dull! so
stately and so tiresome! Mortimer, too, gets worse and worse; O 'tis a
sad tribe! I dare say he will soon grow quite as horrible as his
father. Don't you think so?"

"Why indeed,--no,--I don't think there's much resemblance," said
Cecilia, with some hesitation.

"He is the most altered creature," continued her ladyship, "I ever saw
in my life. Once I thought him the most agreeable young man in the
world: but if you observe, that's all over now, and he is getting just
as stupid and dismal as the rest of them. I wish you had been here
last summer; I assure you, you would quite have fallen in love with
him."

"Should I?" said Cecilia, with a conscious smile.

"Yes, for he was quite delightful; all spirit and gaiety, but now, if
it was not for you, I really think I should pretend to lose my way,
and instead of going over that old draw-bridge, throw myself into the
moat. I wish Euphrasia was here. It's just the right place for her.
She'll fancy herself in a monastery as soon as she comes, and nothing
will make her half so happy, for she is always wishing to be a Nun,
poor little simpleton.

"Is there any chance that Lady Euphrasia may come?"

"O no, she can't at present, because it would not be proper: but I
mean if ever she is married to Mortimer."

"Married to him!" repeated Cecilia, in the utmost consternation.

"I believe, my dear," cried Lady Honoria, looking at her very archly,
"you intend to be married to him yourself?"

"Me? no, indeed!"

"You look very guilty, though," cried she laughing, "and indeed when
you came hither, every body said that the whole affair was arranged."

"For shame, Lady Honoria!" said Cecilia, again changing colour, "I am
sure this must be your own fancy,--invention,--"

"No, I assure you; I heard it at several places; and every body said
how charmingly your fortune would build up all these old
fortifications: but some people said they knew Mr Harrel had sold you
to Mr Marriot, and that if you married Mortimer, there would be a lawsuit
that would take away half your estate; and others said you had promised
your hand to Sir Robert Floyer, and repented when you heard of his
mortgages, and he gave it out every where that he would fight any man
that pretended to you; and then again some said that you were all the
time privately married to Mr Arnott, but did not dare own it, because he
was so afraid of fighting with Sir Robert."

"No, indeed, they were current over the whole town. But don't take any
notice of what I told you about Euphrasia, for perhaps, it may never
happen."

"Perhaps," said Cecilia, reviving by believing it all fiction, "it has
never been in agitation?"

"O yes; it is negociating at this very moment, I believe, among the
higher powers; only Mr Delvile does not yet know whether Euphrasia has
fortune enough for what he wants."

Ah, thought Cecilia, how do I rejoice that my independent situation
exempts me from being disposed of for life, by thus being set up to
sale!

"They thought of me, once, for Mortimer," continued Lady Honoria, "but
I'm vastly glad that's over, for I never should have survived being
shut up in this place; it's much fitter for Euphrasia. To tell you the
truth, I believe they could not make out money enough; but Euphrasia
has a fortune of her own, besides what we shall have together, for
Grandmama left her every thing that was in her own power."

"Is Lady Euphrasia your elder sister?"

"O no, poor little thing, she's two years younger. Grandmama brought
her up, and` she has seen nothing at all of the world, for she has
never been presented yet, so she is not _come out_, you know: but
she's to come out next year. However, she once saw Mortimer, but she
did not like him at all."

"Not like him!" cried Cecilia, greatly surprised.

"No, she thought him too gay,--Oh dear, I wish she could see him now!
I am sure I hope she would find him sad enough! she is the most formal
little grave thing you ever beheld: she'll preach to you sometimes for
half an hour together. Grandmama taught her nothing in the world but
to say her prayers, so that almost every other word you say, she
thinks is quite wicked."

The conversation was now interrupted by their separating to dress for
dinner. It left Cecilia in much perplexity; she knew not what wholly
to credit, or wholly to disbelieve; but her chief concern arose from
the unfortunate change of countenance which Lady Honoria had been so
quick in observing.

The next time she was alone with Mrs Delvile, "Miss Beverley," she
said, "has your little rattling tormentor acquainted you who is
coming?"

"Lord Derford, do you mean, ma'am?"

"Yes, with his father; shall you dislike to see them?"

"Not if, as I hope, they come merely to wait upon you and Mr Delvile."

"Mr Delvile and myself," answered she smiling, "will certainly have
the honour of _receiving_ them."

"Lord Ernolf," said Cecilia, "can never suppose his visit will make
any change in me; I have been very explicit with him, and he seemed
equally rational and well bred in forbearing any importunity upon the
subject."

"It has however been much believed in town," said Mrs Delvile, "that
you were strangely shackled by Mr Harrel, and therefore his lordship
may probably hope that a change in your situation may be followed by a
change in his favour."

"I shall be sorry if he does," said Cecilia, "for he will then find
himself much deceived."

"You are right, very right," cried Mrs Delvile, "to be difficult in
your choice, and to take time for looking around you before you make
any. I have forborn all questions upon this subject, lest you should
find any reluctance in answering them; but I am now too deeply
interested in your welfare to be contented in total ignorance of your
designs: will you, then, suffer me to make a few enquiries?"

Cecilia gave a ready, but blushing assent.

"Tell me, then, of the many admirers who have graced your train, which
there is you have distinguished with any intention of future
preference?"

"Not one, madam!"

"And, out of so many, is there not one that, hereafter, you mean to
distinguish?"

"Ah madam!" cried Cecilia, shaking her head, "many as they may seem, I
have little reason to be proud of them; there is one only who, had my
fortune been smaller, would, I believe, ever have thought of me, and
there is one only, who, were it now diminished, would ever think of me
more."

"This sincerity," cried Mrs Delvile, "is just what I expected from
you. There is, then, _one_?"

"I believe there is,--and the worthy Mr Arnott is the man; I am much
indeed deceived, if his partiality for me is not truly disinterested,
and I almost wish"--

"What, my love?"

"That I could return it more gratefully!"

"And do you not?"

"No!--I cannot! I esteem him, I have the truest regard for his
character, and were I now by any fatal necessity, compelled to belong
to any one of those who have been pleased to address me, I should not
hesitate a moment in shewing him my gratitude; but yet, for some time
at least, such a proof of it would render me very miserable."

"You may perhaps think so now," returned Mrs Delvile; "but with
sentiments so strongly in his favour, you will probably be led
hereafter to pity--and accept him."

"No, indeed, madam; I pretend not, I own, to open my whole heart to
you;--I know not that you would have patience, for so uninteresting a
detail; but though there are some things I venture not to mention,
there is nothing, believe me, in which I will deceive you."

"I _do_ believe you," cried Mrs Delvile, embracing her; "and the
more readily because, not merely among your avowed admirers, but among
the whole race of men, I scarce know one to whom I should think you
worthily consigned!"

Ah! thought Cecilia, that scarce! who may it mean to except?

"To shew you," she continued, "that I will deserve your confidence in
future, I will refrain from distressing you by any further questions
at present: you will not, I think, act materially without consulting
me, and for your thoughts--it were tyranny, not friendship, to
investigate them more narrowly."

Cecilia's gratitude for this delicacy, would instantly have induced
her to tell every secret of her soul, had she not apprehended such a
confession would have seemed soliciting her interest and assistance,
in the only affair in which she would have disdained even to receive
them.

She thanked her, therefore, for her kindness, and the conversation was
dropt; she much wished to have known whether these enquiries sprung
simply from friendly curiosity, or whether she was desirous from any
nearer motive to be satisfied with respect to her freedom or
engagements. This, however, she had no method of discovering, and was
therefore compelled to wait quietly till time should make it clear.

CHAPTER v.

A STORM.

One evening about this time, which was the latter end of July, Lady
Honoria and Cecilia deferred walking out till very late, and then
found it so pleasant, that they had strolled into the Park two miles
from the house, when they were met by young Delvile; who, however,
only reminded them how far they had to return, and walked on.

"He grows quite intolerable!" cried Lady Honoria, when he was gone;
"it's really a melancholy thing to see a young man behave so like an
old Monk. I dare say in another week he won't take off his hat to us;
and, in about a fortnight, I suppose he'll shut himself up in one of
those little round towers, and shave his head, and live upon roots,
and howl if any body comes near him. I really half wonder he does not
think it too dissipated to let Fidel run after him so. A thousand to
one but he shoots him some day for giving a sudden bark when he's in
one of these gloomy fits. Something, however, must certainly be the
matter with him. Perhaps he is in love."

"Can nothing be the matter with him but that?" cried Cecilia.

"Nay, I don't know; but I am sure if he is, his Mistress has not much
occasion to be jealous of you or me, for never, I think, were two poor
Damsels so neglected!"

The utmost art of malice could not have furnished speech more truly
mortifying to Cecilia than this thoughtless and accidental sally of
Lady Honoria's: particularly, however, upon her guard, from the
raillery she had already endured, she answered, with apparent
indifference, "he is meditating, perhaps, upon Lady Euphrasia."

"O no," cried Lady Honoria, "for he did not take any notice of her
when he saw her; I am sure if he marries her, it will only be because
he cannot help it."

"Poor Lady Euphrasia!"

"O no, not at all; he'll make her two or three fine speeches, and then
she'll be perfectly contented especially if he looks as dismally at
her as he does at us! and that probably he will do the more readily
for not liking to look at her at all. But she's such a romantic little
thing, she'll never suspect him."

Here they were somewhat alarmed by a sudden darkness in the air, which
was presently succeeded by a thunder storm; they instantly turned
back, and began running home, when a violent shower of rain obliged
them to take shelter under a large tree; where in two minutes they
were joined by Delvile, who came to offer his assistance in hurrying
them home; and finding the thunder and lightning continue, begged them
to move on, in defiance of the rain, as their present situation
exposed them to more danger than a wet hat and cloak, which might be
changed in a moment.

Cecilia readily assented; but Lady Honoria, extremely frightened,
protested she would not stir till the storm was over. It was in vain
he represented her mistake in supposing herself in a place of
security; she clung to the tree, screamed